


Reunion

by EarthGirl3015



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-12-24 14:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthGirl3015/pseuds/EarthGirl3015
Summary: It's been a long time since the King's Road





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones, either books or TV show. Just here to play with what they give me

Arya was sparring with the little Mormont lady, pausing every few minutes to change her stance, or the grip on her sword. A small smile graced her lips as she remembered, years ago in King’s Landing, the way Syrio had corrected her form, with pointed insults and sharp raps of his wooden sword. Glancing over at the heavily furred men, squinting their eyes against the bright glow from the snow-covered courtyard as they watched their leader train, she knew she couldn’t utter those same scathing remarks to the little Lady of Bear Island. She had heard of how they fought while taking back the North from the cursed Boltons. She had no desire to test Needle against their swords. Today. 

The little Lady was scowling, her eyebrows crunched together and her arms drawn tight in as she tried to block Arya’s next blow. Her legs were straight as arrow shafts, keeping her weight off balance, and so when Arya pressed her advantage, the little Lady nearly fell over before her knees finally bent. She looked at her sword as if she’d like nothing better than to throw it down into the snow and storm off, but instead she raised her dark eyes and looked straight into Arya’s face.

“It’s not working,” she stated bluntly, “What am I doing wrong?” 

Arya was pleased that the little Lady recognised the fault was hers. There were teenage boys and full-grown men who towered over Arya and swaggered into the training ring expecting to best her in minutes, only to be sent howling away within two breaths. They didn’t want to learn though, just to best her.

“You are keeping your legs straight, my Lady. This makes your body unstable, and so when I press closer, you find it harder to move away. Keep your legs bent, it makes it easier to move out of the way.” The little Lady became even smaller as she bent her knees. Arya could see the concentration in her face as she tried to hold the stance.

“We’re better suited for this, actually.” Arya felt the sudden need to assure the little Lady. Lady Mormont’s eyebrow raised. Arya continued, “Being as small as we are,” and she made sure to include the ‘we’, “the larger men have to almost bow over to try and hit us, which means their bodies are already falling over, whilst ours is still upright. All you would really need to do is move backwards and they’d land on their faces.” Well, it wouldn’t work quite like that, but it was making Lady Mormont’s eyebrows unfurl. “All we have to do is evade their heavy swings and then, when they’ve left themselves open, we rush in and…” she mimed stabbing someone’s chest, just above her head height. The little Lady was almost smiling now. 

“I trained with the First Sword of Braavos,” again, a small wistful smile for Syrio crossed her face, “He taught me water dancing, to be quick as a cat and light as a feather. You don’t have the strength to be a knight, so don’t pretend to be. But you are small and, if you bend your knees, fast. Knights learn to hack and slash in heavy armour, so you have to learn to dance until they’re exhausted and then...” again she thrust at an imaginary enemy, “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.” The words came, unbidden from the back of her mind, and her sword arm fell to her side. 

Jon. Her heart wrenched a little. Sansa had sent a raven, surely it had reached him. Surely, he knew that she and Bran were alive and home and…well, as safe as Winterfell’s walls could make them, for now. Why had there been no reply? 

She glanced up to the walls of Winterfell, her Lady sister watching her with approval in her eyes. They’d finally made peace after Littlefinger’s blood had spilled on the floor of the hall, his last words choking in his throat. Arya still felt a small flicker of triumph for being the one to slay him. For all that her list still remained, she had never thought to put Littlefinger on it. During her time in King’s Landing, any time she had thought of him sent a shiver of disgust down her spine, and knowing how he’d looked at Sansa...Yuck.

She’d never trusted him, but she’d never considered him capable of setting off the chain of events that had led to Father’s death either. To hear Sansa tell it, nobody had. She’d never suspected him and so he’d never earned a place on her list. To know that the man who was truly responsible for Father’s death, for Sansa’s time in King’s Landing, for all the pain her family had gone through, was finally dead…there was a sweet sense of satisfaction humming in her belly. 

Realising her mind had wandered, she turned back to Lady Mormont. She was standing in her fighting pose, her knees bent and spread apart and she had a look on her face that wasn’t seeing the castle wall in front of her. She lunged forward sharply, her sword extended, and then dropped back into her stance. The movement was fast. Arya wondered who she was fighting in her mind’s eye, to have her movements be so sudden.  
“Yes,” she said, her lips curling up at the sides, “Just like that.” Lady Mormont gave a close-mouthed smile and repeated the movement. 

‘Lyanna’. Arya remembered with a start that the tiny girl before her was named for her ferocious aunt, the girl with the wolf’s blood. Arya had always hated being compared to Lyanna. She had been her entire life, told that she had Lyanna’s colouring, her stubbornness, her wolf’s blood. And a lot of good it had done her, to die in a tower somewhere in Dorne. But Father had only ever mentioned her with love in his eyes, and she could not fully hate the woman she had never known. She watched the Lady Mormont hack at the frigid air and smiled. She may yet live up to her namesake, after all.


	2. Winterfell

I do not own Game of Thrones, just here to play

Lady Mormont grew weary and cold not long after and bade that they suspend their training for the day. Arya nearly laughed at what Syrio would have said if she had asked for a pause in their training, but that had been in summer. It was winter now, and the hours were getting colder every day. It would do Lady Mormont no good to catch a cold, which would further impede her training. Arya nodded and bowed as the Lady walked over to her bear-like guards, who wrapped the little Lady in a fur and began ushering her back inside. She was happy to see men who truly cared for their liege lord. 

Arya looked around the courtyard, watching the different sparring sessions going on around her. To her right, two large men, one with an eagle on his armour, the other with a clasped fist, were hacking away at each other with tourney swords. A knight of the Vale and a Glover man. She watched them to see if there was a difference in the way they fought, the North and the Vale being so far apart. She anticipated that the Glover man would attack harshly – it was the way in the North – and sure enough he hammered on the man’s arm and then attempted a cut to his chest. The Vale knight held his ground, however, and nearly managed to score a hit on the Glover man’s left arm, but he jerked out of the way before his sword could connect. After a few minutes, Arya decided that Syrio had been right, Westerosi fighting was mostly hacking and slashing, and the two men seemed evenly matched. She turned her eyes away.

Four youths were training under a Karstark soldier, drilling an attack, swiftly followed by a defensive movement. She watched idly until she heard enthusiastic grunts and clash of true steel coming from across the courtyard, and realised that there was a true fight occurring. She walked over, catching sight of a Winterfell man and a Manderley soldier slashing at each other with live blades. The two houses were once again true allies, and so Arya did not fear much for the Stark soldier, until he slipped in the mud and the Manderley soldier nearly took his head off by mistake. There was much shouting, and eventually the Stark man got up out of the mud – a small cut to his ear, but he was more concerned with the snow leaking down the back of his armour – and walked off to deal with himself. The Manderley solider looked around for his next opponent.

Arya stepped into the ring.

The men stopped at once. A couple of them sniggered.

“My Lady,” the Manderley soldier began.

“My sister is Lady Stark. You may call me Arya. You seemed to be quite enjoying yourself. Perhaps you’d like to fight an opponent who has steadier feet.”

More men sniggered. A small crowd was gathering. 

“Wouldn’t want to hurt you, my Lady,” the soldier said, clearly desperate for a way to keep his honour, serve his lord and not accidentally hurt the sister of his liege lord. 

“You’d have to get your sword near me first.” She was tiring of his dithering. She drew Needle. A wave of cat-calling had risen from the crowd at her words, and a few sexual jibes she chose to ignore. 

“You got no armour, my Lady,” the soldier made one last attempt to get out of his situation. 

“Good ser,” the voice came from above. Everybody looked up to see Sansa watching from the balcony, her arms crossed, “My sister is in need of a sparring partner, and she appears to have chosen you. This is a great honour, ser.” Her voice had started sweet but ended with a pointed tone and a raised eyebrow. Arya felt a warm flush rise in her chest. Sansa had never cared to interfere before. Sansa’s eyes met hers. There was almost a look of glee in her lady sister’s eyes, “I’m afraid she’s not patient. And, as she said, you’d have to get your sword near her for her to worry about armour.” 

Her words may as well have been a horn blast. The surrounding soldiers all seemed to inhale at once. The Manderley soldier’s demeanour shifted and he focussed on the slight girl in front of him. Arya was still warm from her sister’s words, but also turned her mind to the fight as soon as she saw him shift. 

His sword came around and she used Needle’s thin edge to parry it away as she ducked out of his path. Needle had been all the way to Braavos and back, and it may have Mikken’s mark, and Jon may have gifted it to her, but even she knew Needle wouldn’t hold up against a harsh beating from a sword. As with the Lady Brienne, she had to keep moving and use Needle only to keep the sharp point from getting too close. His sword crashed down into the snow as she sidestepped out of his way yet again. Quick as a cat, she thought, and brought Needle around to slash at his head. The Manderley soldier cried out as he ducked and then aimed his sword at her legs. Around and around, feinting and slashing, Arya’s heart beat fast and her blood sang. She wasn’t winning, she’d have to draw the dagger to win, but she still didn’t need any armour either. His sword hadn’t touched her once. 

Snow started to fall. Her breath was more visible in front of her face and an icy drop melted on her cheek. She had to finish this soon. His sword came around and she allowed Needle to be taken to the ground as she drew the dagger in her unfamiliar right hand, she brought it back up at the level of his throat. His eyes widened. The crowd was silent. The courtyard was silent.

And then there was the sound of a single pair of clapping hands, coming from the direction of the gate. The Manderley soldier’s shoulder was in the way, she couldn’t see. And then…  
“The last time I saw you, you needed to be reminded which end to stick people with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love those Stark girls supporting each other


	3. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, don't own anything.

Her knees almost locked. Her breath stilled. The hand holding the dagger trembled. 

That voice. She hadn’t heard that voice in years. She stepped around the Manderley soldier and looked across to her favourite brother. His face was pale, although his cheeks were red with the cold. His hair was pulled back from his face. When had it gotten so long? His eyes though. His eyes were still dark, still all-seeing, still smiling at her. 

In that moment, she was nine years old again and she was bounding across the courtyard to hug him. He caught her and held her to him, holding her just as tightly as she was clinging to him. He smelled of horses and leather and steel. She was embarrassed to feel tears pricking her eyes, but she could feel his lungs filling and he was here, finally all the Starks were home. 

He held her close for another beat and then pulled back to run his hand through her hair. She looked up into his face, and her heart clenched at his smile. It was Father’s smile. 

“You learned how to use it,” his voice was pleased. 

“You’re the King in the North.” She shot back. He laughed,

“Both of us were never supposed to do that, were we?”   
She laughed with him. A crunching in the snow announced Sansa’s more stately arrival. Arya, in annoyance, felt her cheeks flush as she saw that the entire courtyard was looking on. Sansa noticed,  
“Don’t be ashamed. I did the same, except at Castle Black.” She whispered to Arya, before kissing Jon on each cheek.  
“You’ve returned hale, I hope?”

“Indeed, my Lady,” even his voice had a cadence of their Father’s commanding tone, “Hale and hearty, and with a new alliance.”

“So I hear,” Sansa’s voice frosted. Arya understood. To be cut out of such a momentous decision did not sit well with the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa made a show of looking up, then said,  
“And where is your Dragon Queen?” Jon’s face had hardened slightly.  
“The Queen is overseeing the movements of her Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers. They are coming all the way from King’s Landing, after all, and the snows make travel hard. She should be here, with her army, in a week.”

Arya could scarcely believe it. Dragons! Here, in Winterfell. As snows fell, as well. Father hadn’t foreseen that. She doubted even Bran would have. Sansa, however, was not best pleased,  
“How many…men does she have?”  
“At least 10,000 Dothraki screamers and some 10,000 Unsullied.” Jon replied through his teeth.  
“And do these 20,000 soldiers subsist on air or snow? Winterfell’s stores are barely large enough to feed the North for a year, we cannot waste it on an army!” Jon sighed,  
“Sansa, the army of the dead…”  
“Is our immediate problem, yes, but assuming we survive, and I do hope that is part of the plan, we then have to live through the winter. And we cannot do that if we have no food left.”  
“Sansa, can this not wait until…”  
“One week to find enough food to feed 20,000 soldiers, no, it cannot wait…”

One of the joys of not being the Lady of Winterfell was that Arya had no part in the argument that was currently taking place in front of the castle, the soldiers and the men Jon had brought home with him. She looked down the line, curious as to the men he had brought back. The grey haired older man, who had just stepped into conversation with Jon and Sansa, held an air of sensibility about him. When his eyes flicked to her for the briefest second, she swore she could see who he was right down to his soul. She liked what she saw. A good man, to help her brother. There were several men in black she didn’t recognise, but one gigantic one that she did.  
Sandor towered above her, his scarred face twisted into an expression of wry amusement.

“You left me to die, you little bitch.” All of the nearest conversations stopped in horror. Even Jon and Sansa looked up in shock. Arya…shrugged.

“Clearly you’re too ugly for even the Stranger to take away. He must have taken one look and run off screaming.” Sandor shifted his weight onto his back foot, a reluctant smile twisting his features even more,

“You stole my gold.”

“Used it well,” she said, assuming she had, she couldn’t remember now.

“I begged you to kill me, and you didn’t. A man might get some ideas about what that means.” She took stock of him. He was well armoured, with a large sword and he stood as tall and proud as a wolf.

“I could try and do it now, if you like.” Silence throughout the whole courtyard. Jon was looking slightly horrified, while Sansa didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or cry.

Then Sandor wheezed. Another breath and it came out as the deep bellied laughter it really was. Arya was more stunned than she had ever been in her life. The Hound was laughing. Actually, truly laughing. She smiled in response. He lifted one gigantic paw and brought it down on her shoulder.

“Steal from me again and I’ll snap your neck in two.” She pushed his hand off.

“I’ll make sure you’re actually dead when I do then.” He shook his head and looked around the still mostly silent courtyard.

“Where can a man get a drink around here?” Arya was about to point out the kitchens when she noticed one of the men in Jon’s line staring at her. She turned to him, ready to snap at any remarks he might have and then paused as she finally recognized his face. 

Her eyes widened. Her heartbeat tripled. The breath froze in her lungs.

“Gendry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I genuinely don't remember what Arya did with the Hound's gold in the show. If anybody does, just let me know and I'll change it


	4. Gendry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own anything except the words printed here

She didn’t realise she had taken a step towards him until she was looking up into his face. The childish part of her still whined that she was smaller than him, but the rest of her didn’t care. He took a step towards her.

Not only was he taller, he was broader too. His muscles, always so large because of his work, seemed somehow larger. But there was something else, something different. He held himself differently. He had stooped before, on the King’s road, trying to keep attention away from him. Now he stood tall and dared anyone to challenge him. His eyes were the same though. He’d always had such lovely eyes.

He smiled. And then bowed,

“Milady.” His eyes crinkled in amusement and she remembered.

“I told you,” she took another step forward and shoved him. Not two years ago, she’d pushed him hard enough to make him fall over. Now she bounced off of him, “Not to call me,” she settled for slapping his chest instead, “Milady, you bloody stupid Bull!” her voice was loud and high, her heartbeat even higher. Her mouth was curling without her permission and she cut short a giggle before it was fully out. 

“As milady commands,” he was enjoying this.

“I know how to kill a man now,” She stated, her lips still curled in a smile.

“That’s not very ladylike.” He didn’t even blink. Didn’t look surprised, didn’t seem to care. His eyes were smiling at her. 

“So,” he looked up at Winterfell, “This is the castle you grew up in, is it?”

“Yes.” Screw him, if he was going to play this game, she was just as good at it. But then he said something completely unexpected.

“Mine’s bigger.”

Arya’s eyebrow nearly touched her hairline.

“You have a castle?”

“Well,” he brushed a hand across his face, “My father did.”

“You know who you father is now?”  
“Was,” Jon’s perplexed voice came from behind her, “His father was Robert Baratheon. How do you two know each other?”  
Arya hadn’t heard a word after ‘Baratheon’. She was staring at Gendry with her mouth open, her eyes flicking across his face. His cheeks pinked a little under her gaze.

 

Of course, it was so obvious! His face, the way he held himself, she could see in him the echoes of his fat horrible father. A puzzle piece clicked into place.

“The goldcloaks!” she said, startling Gendry, “On the King’s Road. I thought they were looking for me, but they were looking for you!” Gendry shrugged and shuffled his feet,

“An easy mistake to make. You were the daughter of the Hand, and I was nobody.”

“The Queen wanted you dead, didn’t she?” Arya demanded, rage boiling up in her. Cersei had always been close to the top of her list, but she mentally placed her at the very top for this. Gendry nodded, and then shifted his arms around, bringing his gigantic war hammer into view as he did so. Arya gawked at it.  
She’d never seen him with a proper weapon before. Gendry laughed a little self-consciously.  
“Because my father…”

“Ours is the Fury.”

“What?” His face still twisted like that when he was confused. 

“Your house words,” she looked him in the eye, “Ours is the Fury.” He looked down the shaft of his war hammer, then deeply into her eyes,

“For my father.” He said with conviction.  
She nodded.

 

“Seriously, how do you two know each other?” Jon’s voice cut between them. Arya startled out of Gendry’s eyes, “You mentioned the King’s Road.”

“After Father…” even all these years later she found it hard to say the words. They understood, of course. Jon’s head drooped a little and Sansa’s eyes dimmed. Arya started again.

“Yoren saved me,” Jon looked up, startled at that,

“The Night Watch recruiter?”

“He pulled me out…after…and he cut my hair and dressed me in boy’s clothes and took me with the recruits for the Wall. Gendry was with them. I guess they were smuggling you out too.” She directed this last to Gendry. 

“He was a good man,” Gendry said roughly. Arya nodded, trying to banish the last moments of Yoren’s life that were playing out behind her eyes.  
“He said he was going to take me back to Winterfell.”

Sansa’s eyes were wide with horror,  
“Recruiting men for the Night’s Watch. Gods, Arya, in the company of rapists and murders and worse! How was that safe for you?”

“King’s Landing wasn’t any safer,” Arya kept her eyes bent from her sister’s face as she spoke. Sansa had survived many things in that horrific place, but Arya had never been able to stomach it, “Besides, Gendry wouldn’t have let them touch me, not after he figured out I was a girl.”

 

This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

 

Jon’s face sharpened and his eyes turned to Gendry with a fierce piercing look. Sansa and the grey-haired man were looking towards him with cold eyes. Even Sandor was glaring. Gendry had the eyes of a deer suddenly surrounded by ravenous carnivores.

“And how, exactly, did he figure out that you were a girl?” Realising the incorrect conclusion that apparently everyone had jumped to, Arya opened her mouth to explain, but Gendry beat her to it.

“Not like that, Jon, your Grace, my King,” he was stumbling over his words in his urgency to rectify the misunderstanding, “She was never…I never saw…it was the way she carried herself, her voice was higher than any boy’s, even a young boy’s, her face was softer, she always hid while everyone was making water…”

“Oh, shut up, you stupid Bull,” Arya put as much of a commanding tone into her voice as she could to stop the noise he was making. She was also trying to ignore the way her heart was fluttering. Her face was soft, was it? “He never saw me naked, Jon, there’s no need to go fingering your sword hilt like that.” She looked at said hilt and saw that it was carved in a relief of Ghost. She’d heard that it was Valerian steel and made a note to ask Jon to look at it later. 

 

“Besides, he wasn’t the one who got an eyeful.” She smirked at Gendry, as his face turned red. Jon, whose shoulders had been relaxing, became rigid as stone.  
“Well he didn’t figure out that I was a girl on the first day,” she teased, as Gendry made frantic notions at her to try and stop her talking, “You were pissing in front of me for at least two weeks before you figured it out,” Gendry’s face dropped into his hands, although the glowing red tips of his ears were still visible. Sandor was choking on laughter again. Sansa’s lips were pursed, and she’d turned away but Arya could see her shoulders shaking. Only Jon looked absolutely livid. 

 

“Hmm and what was that thing you kept talking about?” Gendry’s hands were suddenly grasping for her upper arms – had his fingers always been so long? – and attempting to grab her to stop her talking, “Something about…”

“Arya, I swear to the gods…” he was chasing her around in a circle now, she ducked and weaved away from his hands, her heart as light as her feet and mischief bubbling in her eyes,

“Something about…COCKS!” and she shouted it so loudly that no one in the courtyard could fail to hear it. Sandor was leaning against a castle wall, trying to contain his mirth and Sansa had made an odd hiccupping noise at the shouted word. Gendry stopped pursuing her, his hands hanging down at his side, and his eyes nervously twitching towards Jon, who seemed to be having trouble looking stern through his own amusement.

 

“Still going to call me ‘milady’?” she teased.  
“You’ll be lucky if I call you anything after this,” he muttered savagely, his eyes on the courtyard.  
“Stupid Bull,” She punched his upper arm gently. He looked up at her, his pretty eyes pale against the snow.  
“Annoying brat.” Her eyebrow lifted.  
“Idiotic…argh!” before she could finish speaking, Gendry had reached down, grabbed a handful of slushy snow and thrown it in her face. 

 

There was a tense moment of silence from the people still watching around the courtyard.  
“You’ll pay for that,” she promised. He smirked.  
“Tomorrow. Show me this weirwood of yours.” She thought about what his face would look like when he saw the blood red leaves, the white bark, the cold old face that had been carved into the tree by creatures long dead.  
And then she remembered the small pool next to it.

“This way,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. Hopefully I made you smile at least once. Thanks for taking the time to read and hope you have a good day


	5. The Weirwood

Gendry couldn’t seem to stop looking around him. Arya bit back a fond smile as his eyes took in the large boundary wall surrounding the castle’s garden, the dark firs frosted with snow and the crack of grass beneath their feet. Everything looked as though it had been covered in fine confectioner’s sugar. Although Arya had known these woods since she could crawl, she took a second to think of what Gendry, who had been born in a city and hadn’t seen trees until he was forced onto the King’s Road with her, must be thinking. 

“This has been here as long as Winterfell,” she spoke, her voice sounding muffled under the covered trees. Her breath came out in white bursts as the snowflakes continued to settle around them, “The weirwood even longer, since the days when the Children of the Forest and giants were the only beings who lived in Westeros.” 

“How long ago was that?” Gendry’s voice was also hushed, his eyes darting from the rich green and white all around him to the petite girl leading him through. 

Arya bit back a retort about his lack of knowledge; he was a bastard after all and a Southerner at that, he hadn’t grown up with a maester demanding he recite back all the dates of battles and names of heroes and words of houses, and even if he had the South didn’t care for Northern traditions. 

“In the first Age of the world, when Essos and Westeros were still connected by the land bridge. When the First Men started to cross, the Children used their magic to break the land bridge, it’s where the Stepstones are now. The First Men that survived learned to live with the Children, learned their ways and their gods. We Starks are descended from the First Men. That’s why we keep the old gods. That’s why we keep the weirwood.”

The tree appeared as she was speaking, its long white limbs reaching out to the sky, its blood red leaves still attached even in the bitter cold. The familiar old face peered out from a dusting of snow, its eyes harsh as the brisk winter winds. Gendry’s mouth had fallen open and he stared into the eyes of the old tree, seemingly transfixed by it. 

The silence surrounding them was comforting, Arya felt. She waited patiently, forgetting for a moment that she’d really brought him here to push him into the pool that lay next to the tree. It was a hot spring, yes, but Gendry didn’t know that. 

“The eyes are disturbing,” Gendry finally proclaimed, swallowing loudly in the quiet. Arya smirked,

“Oh, you sweet Southern child, our gods aren’t meant to bring comfort or make a pretty girl turn her eyes your way. Our gods watch us always, to see if we are worthy of their attention. And they are not merciful.”

Gendry sneered at her,  
“That face certainly doesn’t look kind. I’d hate to anger your gods, wolf girl.”

Arya smiled, “Bran says that when he green-sees, he looks at the world through the eyes of the weirwood trees.” Gendry turned to her in shock,

“What in the seven hells do you mean green-see?” 

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The Children of the Forest used to be able to do it. Green-seeing is where you go to sleep and dream of the future, or the present or sometimes the past. You can look into the hearts of men and see who they truly are. Bran claims that he can see things happening on the other side of the world, although he usually has to warg to do that.”

Gendry was staring at her as though she’d suddenly grown a second head.   
“You can dream the future?”

“I can’t, my brother Bran can. He’s the ‘Three Eyed Raven’, whatever the hells that means. He never bothers to explain, it’s almost like he thinks we already know what he means.”

“Your brother…he can do magic?” Gendry sounded like he was about to faint.

“Northern magic,” Arya replied, “None of this fire magic the Red Bitch or that old drunk man could do. Our magic is the way of the earth and snow and ice.”

“How…how?” Gendry looked as though he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Arya grinned, “I did tell you we Northerners were close with the Children of the Forest. They taught us many things.”

“Can…is there anything you can do?” Gendry took an almost involuntary step back. Arya rolled her eyes.

“Do you think I’d have let you get taken if I could do magic?” There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Arya felt her cheeks warm. Gendry’s eyes had suddenly gone soft and a small smile was gracing his face. Even with his cheeks and nose red from the cold and his hair covered in a fine coat of snow, he was breath-takingly handsome in that moment. Arya felt her lungs contract and then her mouth was moving without her consent, “Although Bran thinks we all are able to warg, in some way.”

Another beat of silence. Then the inevitable,

“What’s warging?” Gendry’s smile had turned into a twist of confusion, but his eyes were still soft and wouldn’t leave hers. Arya let the silence sit for another moment, drinking him in before her brain was able to make her mouth move,

“It’s when you can go inside animals’ minds and see the world through their eyes.” 

Gendry’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open again. This time the silence was awkward.

“It’s just Nymeria, I think,” Arya hastened to add, “My direwolf. I don’t think I ever told you about her. Jon and Robb found them when they were pups and their mother had been killed,” (a single warm memory bloomed in her mind as she remembered running with Sansa down to the kitchen to see these mythical creatures, their house sigil, and seeing the squirming blind pups and seeing a little grey ball that looked up with golden eyes and knowing, knowing deep in her soul, yes, you are mine) “We raised them and I named her Nymeria for the warrior, and she bit Joffery when he attacked Mycah and I had to drive her off or the queen would have killed her. I saw her again, on the road home. She’s got her own pack now. She won’t be coming back with me.” Her voice trailed off, a swift sadness blooming in her stomach, followed by the bitter-sweet knowledge that Nymeria was a wild animal, she wasn’t born for castles, not really. 

Gendry was standing stock still, his face utterly blank. Arya felt almost shy, she’d never told anybody this, not even Sansa. She hated the feeling of being exposed, as if she’d just rolled onto her back, exposing her belly and hoping he didn’t cut it open. Finally, he said,

“Only one animal then? You’re not this…Three Eyed…”

“No, only Bran is. And yes, just the one.” Arya’s stomach was clenching.

A warm hand came down on her shoulder. She looked up in surprise, right into his face. He was standing right beside her, his tall frame towering over her but the look on his face was far from threatening. The heat from his hand seemed to sink into her, warming her from the inside. His eyes were soft still.

“It must have been hard to watch her leave.” He smelled of salt and iron and fur. His face was closer.

“S…she,” what was happening? Arya never stumbled over her words. She swallowed and tried again, “She’s a wild animal. She doesn’t belong in a castle.”

“Any more than her lady.” Came the soft reply.

Arya could hear her own heart thumping in her ears. Her breath came in short gasps and her body seemed to be trembling, as Gendry slowly, with his eyes on hers the entire time, lowered his head towards her. He stopped as their noses brushed. His eyes asked permission. She gave him one better.

Rocking onto her tiptoes, Arya brushed her mouth against his, and then jerked back sharply. His eyes went wide in alarm,

“I’m…are you…was that…alright?” Arya barely heard his muttering as she took stock of the lightning bolt that had shot through her when she’d kissed him. Well, she hadn’t really kissed him.

“Do that again.” She said, her voice suddenly loud in the wood. Gendry stared and then smiled widely. He bent his head down again.

Once again, she didn’t wait for him. Her arms closed behind his neck as she thrust her lips against his. This time, their teeth clacked painfully and their lips were twisted against each other in a way that was not pleasurable for either. Arya again jerked back, this time in frustration.

“Again.” She demanded, in the voice of a drill sergeant, as she reached for him yet again. Gendry rolled his eyes, surprised he had expected anything less from his wild wolf girl and decided to take charge himself. 

He took one hand from her shoulder and cupped her face with it. She seemed shocked at his gentle touch, her eyes widening. He bent his head down again and took her mouth, gently pressing and then sliding his lips against hers. His breathing stuttered and he had to bite back a groan at how good this felt, finally, to kiss Arya Stark of Winterfell. 

They resurfaced for air. Arya shivered at the sudden loss of heat, yet fought the urge to wrap Gendry in her arms. His hands again found her shoulders and he smiled down at her tenderly, before a thought crossed his mind,

“Wolf girl?” Her head jerked up, her eyes narrowing,

“What?”

“That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”

Arya snapped back out of his grip and prepared to shove him into the pool after all, but Gendry’s eyes widened suddenly and he took a step back all by himself, his mouth letting out a small screech. Arya looked behind her.

Almost two heads taller than her, easily large enough to come to Gendry’s shoulder, Ghost stood silently behind them, his blood red eyes fixed on Gendry. Arya rolled her eyes and scoffed,

“It’s only Ghost. Jon must have started to get worried.” She had no idea how long they’d been out in the woods as the sky was a uniform grey from horizon to horizon, but she assumed it was long enough for the King in the North. 

Gendry finally spoke,  
“He didn’t make a sound!

Arya laughed,  
“Why do you think Jon named him Ghost? He hasn’t made a sound in all the time I’ve known him.”

“Is…is he in him?” 

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Arya. Bran wouldn’t warg into Ghost without Jon’s permission, but Jon…  
She glared into Ghost’s eyes,  
“If my brother is in there, he’ll regret it. This is no business of his.” Ghost continued to stare back placidly, his large red tongue lolling from his mouth and his breath white in the frozen air. The direwolf turned his head back towards Winterfell, then back to Arya, and then he turned and walked away.

“I suppose we should head back,” she muttered, turning back to the Baratheon bastard. He seemed to have recovered from his shock, no doubt relieved that the direwolf hadn’t gone for his throat. Then his face split into a grin, and his hand came up before landing heavily on her head. She almost squealed at the feeling of cold liquid dripping down onto her scalp. This immediately resulted in a tussle which ended with Gendry on his back in the snow, Arya on top trying to force the handful of hard packed snow she held down his throat.

“I yield, my lady, I yield!” Gendry cried with laughter.

“I told you not to call me ‘my lady’.” But Arya could barely breathe from her own laughter, and so she was even more surprised when Gendry raised his chest from the ground, caught her around her chest and kissed her wildly. There is was, the lightning bolt she’d felt before.

“Arya.” He named her softly, his hair covered in snow, his cheeks and nose and lips bright red and his eyes soft as butterscotch.

“Gendry.” She returned, her heart more full than it had been since she was a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. Hope you enjoyed

**Author's Note:**

> I love the GOT universe, although more partial to the books than the show. That being said, we're more likely to actually see the characters we love meet up in the show, so this is what I hope happens in season 8.


End file.
